the limit.

My husband is sick and I’ve been going nonstop since 7AM so this is my limit.

Sorry blog but it’s crash time.

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the darnedest things.

The church where I work also has a private school onsite. My good friend Corri, who dyed my hair red, works as a teacher’s assistant there and asked me to swing by the lunchroom during lunch so she could check out how my hair turned out after washing it last night.

As she was checking out my tresses, one of the girls called out to her.

“Ms. Corri, is that your mom?”

“What?” we both shouted. My mouth fell agape. Corri quickly followed up with, “Does she really LOOK like my mom?”

The girl nodded.

“HOW OLD DO YOU THINK I AM?” I was shocked.

“I don’t know, like 24?”

“Okay,” I laughed, “so If I’m 24, how old is Ms. Corri? Like 12?”

“Yeah.”

“Well. Okay. Sure then. I’m her mom.”

precious moments.

Ten years ago, when I had just graduated high school and moved into my dorm at Florida State, there was a new social networking site that had been created specifically for college students called “The Facebook.” I vividly remember a group of my fellow FSU freshmen and I rallying together to get “The Facebook” to add fsu.edu email addresses to its approved network of students.

Once we finally got on “The Facebook” (feels so weird calling it by its first name) life was never the same. All of a sudden, we could now live out all of our college experience not just in real time, but also on the internet for everyone else to see/comment on/like/validate.

That’s right — validate.

If your roommate told you she’s started dating someone, you would ask, “Well, is it Facebook official yet?” implying that her relationship wasn’t “real” until it was made public on Facebook. Similarly, if you got a new job, you would count down the minutes till you could get on your profile and update it to inform your friends of your latest career endeavor.

It’s as if those of us who have been conditioned to do life with things like Facebook and Instagram have replaced the old adage, “If a tree falls in a forest and no one’s around to hear it, does it make a sound?” with a new one:

“If it isn’t on social media, did it really happen?”

(I am just realizing that I’ve written this before. But whatever.)

I guess it goes without saying that this way of life — blurring the lines between the internet and real life to a confusing degree — can cause some serious issues. For me, those issues have manifested themselves in a few ways: becoming envious of the lives of my friends appear to have based on their posts, getting offended and upset at things people post on Facebook to the point of ruining my in-real-life days, offending/upsetting others with my own posts, and (most notably for this post) struggling with what to post and what to keep private.

There are certain things I experience that are so special to me that I have to fight the urge to post them. One example I can think of right off the top of my head is those moments in the morning when Dan and I are awake, laying in bed, before Dax wakes up. Another example is all the sweet moments I have when nursing Dax — private for obvious reasons. And just this morning — the inspiration for this post — Dax ran up to a sleeping (and, therefore inappropriately dressed) Dan, poked him and said, “Dada, waffles, please.”

Because those moments are so precious to me, I want them to be “real”, and because I am part of the Facebook generation I have to remind myself that, even if they never see the light of social media, they are no less real than the pregnancy announcements and relationship statuses that are currently populating my newsfeed.

In recent months, the idea of removing myself from Facebook has been extremely appealing if, for no other reason, it allows me to get a handle again on the preciousness of all moments of my life, regardless of their publicity. (Though if I did ditch Facebook, I would have to find a viable alternative place to post pictures of my son lest the rest of my family have my head.)

Does anyone else have this struggle?

what matters.

Being that Sundays are the start of my week (yay ministry!) Fridays are the start of my weekend. I like to try and do all the chores that have gone unnoticed throughout the busyness of the week on Fridays so that Saturdays can be reserved for fun things.

Being that I’ve been nursing a sick child back to health, this week’s chores have not just slipped under the radar; they’ve multiplied. Frustrated by the state of my house, I was scrubbing my kitchen counters with more vigor and anger than I usually do. Over the scratchy sounds of the scrub brush on our plastic-y countertops, I heard a tiny voice in the other room.

“Mama, puzzle.”

“Be right there, bud.”

“Mama, help.”

“In a minute, love. Just gotta finish cleaning this kitchen.”

“Mama, puzzle?”

And then I stopped and thought to myself.

In ten years, am I going to wish I spent more time keeping my house clean? Or am I going to desperately wish I just had one more afternoon with my two-year-old and a puzzle on a not-so vacuumed floor?

So I dropped the scrub brush and headed into the other room to find my boy.

“Do you wanna do this puzzle with Mama?”

“YEAH!” he shouted as he plopped his diaper-padded butt down on the floor with a squish.

Oh my heart. My heart, my heart, my heart.

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empathy.

This time last year, I was gushing with the secret that I was pregnant with my second child. Dan and I weren’t trying to get pregnant; we just did, and had it in our minds that because we got pregnant unexpectedly that this little bean growing inside me was certainly someone special.

My second pregnancy was vastly different from my first one. With Dax, I felt like Superwoman all the time (well, Superwoman who needed periodic naps throughout the day). However, the second time around, I was pretty miserable for the majority of it — constant stomach issues, nausea, hunger, and anxiety.

So when I went to the bathroom at a friend’s birthday party in late October and saw the blood indicating the beginning of “labor” (should that be in quotes? I don’t know. I certainly labored but it just feels strange to me.) part of me wasn’t all that shocked, if I’m honest. But all of me was heartbroken and sad. A few weeks afterward, when my heart was still raw, I remember praying to God and asking Him to just explain to me why.

The explanation never came, but He did give me a name — the name of the baby I’d never hold.

*****

“That’s a really interesting tattoo you have,” said my son Dax’s preschool teacher as I was bending down to pick him up today.

“Oh, thanks!”

“What made you decide to get it there?”

“Oh, yeah,” I laughed as I awkwardly flashed my armpit. (The tattoo in question is on located on the inside of my right bicep.) “This is my family tattoo — see, these two birds are for Dan and me and this bird is Dax, and this white one is for a baby we lost — so I got it on what I call my ‘mom bicep’.”

“Oh, okay,” she replied with understanding. “Did you have your miscarriage before or after Dax?”

“It was after. Like, almost exactly a year ago,” I said distracted as I reached for and just barely missed my son bolting out the door.

“Oh, yeah, I had one right before I had my son,” she offered.

After that exchange there was a blur around me involving my so-ready-to-leave toddler and all of his things, but as Dax was outside climbing into his car seat, his teacher came up behind me.

“Lindsay! I hope you aren’t upset with me about asking about your miscarriage,” she said sweetly with real concern sparkling in her eyes.

“Oh no! Not at all! If I wasn’t comfortable talking about it I wouldn’t have mentioned it in the first place.”

“Okay, just wanted to make sure,” she replied with a smile. “Have a great weekend!”

“You too!”

And just like that, we transformed from a teacher speaking with her student’s mother to two women gently sharing with each other their particular pieces of this broken life who can honestly say in that moment, “I know how you feel. It’s okay. I get it. I get you. It’s okay.”

And that is everything.

31 days of discovery – LINK UP POST.

31days

Hey! Thanks for following me along for 31 days as I discover new things in my life. This is my link up post, so as I post each day’s blog I will link it up here.

If you’re wanting to join me in writing a blog a day for the entire month of October, there is still time to link up! Click here to join in on the fun!

**********

day one: fire.

day two: empathy.

day three: what matters.

day four: precious moments.

day five: community.

day six: rescheduled.

day seven: the darnedest things.

day eight: the limit.

day nine: joy.

day ten: bad guys.

day eleven: some daxisms.

day twelve: music therapy.

day thirteen: caffeine withdrawal.

day fourteen: prayer.

day fifteen: my own strength.

day sixteen: miss (oops).

day seventeen: reality.

day eighteen: little victories.

day nineteen: love.

day twenty: silence.

day twenty-one: miss.

day twenty-two: miss.

day twenty-three: miss.

day twenty-four: miss.

day twenty-five: treats.

day twenty-six:

day twenty-seven:

day twenty-eight:

day twenty-nine:

day thirty:

day thirty-one:

fire.

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Tonight I discovered the hard way that if you stand in a swamp or marsh long after sunset, you might feel a fire ignite around your toes and spread up your legs. And when you scream and pant and try to put out that flame with your hands, they too will become engulfed. And when you finally get to a light source you will find that it isn’t actual fire, but fire ants, and they have now scorched your appendages with their fiery poison and, thus, now own you.

That said…

Happy write31days! My theme is simple: 31 days of discovery. Come along with me!

[DISCLAIMER] This post is so short because I left my computer at work and I’m blogging through the WordPress app which is trés annoying.